The Day My Dream Died

4 - Reap

— 4 —

Reap

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Lise wakes with a start. She can't recall leaving the undermind. Wincing, she pushes herself up on bandaged hands. I'll have to tend to these soon... I can't afford to ignore it much longer. But there's no time now. That town is being devoured as she sits worrying about a broken knuckle and some splinters. It can wait until I get there. It's foolish and she knows it.

She gathers her cloak and satchel, crawling from the narrow cleft in the stone. Immediately, she feels that something is off. It is hard to say what in the pitch darkness. The air smells... wrong. On her guard, she traces her way back to the olea bush. The pungent smell grows steadily stronger.

Eyes watering, Lise creeps around the cliff edge. She freezes. Deep gouges stripe the craggy stone of the plateau. She leans down, inspecting the marks. Three... There are more markings, each bearing three distinct lines several inches deep. Whatever left the tracks must have be immense. She looks closer, noting the pad shape in the thin layer of dirt. A smaller hole toward the back tells her more than enough. A raptor.

A chill crawls up her back. Such huge prints... Even at that size—she looks up at the night sky—she knows she won't see it coming. Her ears are reliable enough, but she's not had enough time to adjust to the night season yet. She is still relying on her sight too much.

Damn it. The olea bush has been trampled, all light gone from it but for two remaining beetles. Her traps are nowhere to be found in the wreckage. Snow has piled up here, though it has ceased snowing for the moment. As the moon peeks from its cloudy veil, its gaze falls upon something glistening in the snow...

Gore stains the white a burnt crimson.

Lise retreats from the scene, plucking the two remaining flower-pods from where they have been dashed aside. She hides their glow in her satchel and makes her way toward the ravine. Trying not to hurry, she begins to climb down. The edges are slick with ice, and all it takes is one slip. Had I known I'd be traversing icy mountains I would have brought an ice axe instead of this cumbersome battle-axe. She grits her teeth against the ache creeping into her fingers. Land, had I known I'd be encountering giant fucking birds I would have brought a catapult instead of a sling.

When she finds a suitable ledge to stop, she looks up to realize she's already descended close to a hundred feet. She feels her hands throbbing with pain, even cold-numbed as they are. Trembling, she fumbles with the clasp on her satchel. She hesitates, holding the glowing blue flower-pod. Do I really want to know how deep it is? She wonders, peering briefly over the narrow ledge. Her fingers come away, and the pod drops into the ravine.

It falls, further and further, dancing in the strong winds... She counts to nine before the glow vanishes. She breathes slowly, I wouldn't survive this fall no matter how deep the snow was. Knowing its depth now she isn't sure she can make it all the way down in one go, let alone get back up the other side, regardless of the fact that the opposite mountain is a couple hundred feet shorter.

Lise looks at her shaking hands, bandages crusty with old blood. Foolish... Death is so close she can feel its chill breath on the back of her neck. She continues her descent...

She has to stop again barely twenty feet down. Her fingers are losing strength, and she can't trust her grip in the current conditions. She pushes herself as far from the edge as she can and tries to shelter from the blistering wind, but there is even less to give her cover here than on the last ledge.